


god created light just so he could see her

by ultraviolence



Category: Fate/Grand Order, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms, Fate/stay night - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Comfort/Angst, F/M, Freeform, How Do I Tag This, light angst with a lot of softness, minor reference of blood/violence, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-08-24 23:50:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16650235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultraviolence/pseuds/ultraviolence
Summary: "she was wearing a white summer dress, the forever queen, young and beautiful, forever unchanging in this landscape.sometimes, he thinks god created light just for her."





	god created light just so he could see her

**Author's Note:**

> shdhsdhs I should be working on a Gil/Ozy fic but instead I wrote this...the fic that nobody wants except for me...but I was inspired by a fanart on Twitter! Blame THAT.
> 
> Title was taken from a tweet. Enjoy <3

**i.**

she was standing in a field of sunflowers under a sky so blue it hurts. the flowers swayed lightly, face turned forever towards the sun, and she was facing the sun too, hands clasped behind her back, her fair hair exposed. she was wearing a white summer dress, the forever queen, young and beautiful, forever unchanging in this landscape.

sometimes, he thinks god created light just for her.

**ii.**

she was standing in a field of sunflowers, still in her white dress, her back towards him, the legitimate queen of france, the wife of louis xvi.

he murdered her.

**iii.**

she was standing in a field of sunflowers, her white dress stained red. he opened his mouth to say something, anything, but his words died in his mouth—unlike the revolution—and he could see her turning slightly towards him, the sun framing her, god’s radiance and benevolence in her face, and he reached out towards her, with his blood-stained hands, but she fell before he could reach her, fell, like eve from the garden, mortal after all, the light leaving her eyes.

in his dream, she—marie antoinette of france, the forever queen—smiles, and smiles, even when she’s dying, and lives forever.

**iv.**

he woke up with salt in his mouth and tears on his cheeks, blue skies and red blood and white sundress in his mind still. _viva la france_. the blue skies cried tears of diamonds. _viva la france_. her blood on the sunflowers turned into crystals. _viva la france_. her white sundress turned into wings of light.

he couldn’t sleep again that night.

**v.**

he found her in the mess hall the next day and the words, once more, died in his throat. revolution doesn’t sit well on him, despite his coat and the blood on his hands, and he was never good with words.

he cleared his throat. he was lucky she was alone and was not with the chevalier. she looked up, smiled her usual cheerful smile, and offered—no, _ordered_ him to eat, despite the fact that they no longer need such things.

despite the fact that they are no longer mortals. the throne of heroes calls, and even if he is not a hero—more of a villain, in his own somber opinion—they answered. charles-henri sanson finds it ironic to meet the queen again.

more than that, he couldn’t sleep ever since she had been summoned to chaldea. her face haunted him, both in dreams and in waking.

she asked him what’s wrong with concern written in her beautiful face. she is so beautiful, he thought, angels could cry. he remembered the sky the day the guillotine claimed her. it was a grey autumn day, sombre and grave.

france wasn’t the same after she left. in a way—even at that time—sanson knows that the world mourns her passing.

he could visualize her blood on his hands but she brought him back to the present, her hand touching his gently, her voice a guiding light, a lighthouse for lost souls. from the day that she arrived in chaldea, sanson knows, whatever had transpired in their past and in the orleans singularity, he was hers forever, for his heart sings a foreign-sounding song.

but of course, it was impossible for the queen to forgive him.

he wanted to tell her, coldly, that he was alright and that her concern was misplaced, but instead, being a misfit as he is, he stuttered out an apology.

“i- i’m sorry,” he told her, stumbling on the words like a drunk teenager, not knowing which way to go, “i- i dreamt of you every single night. your blood on my hands. what i said in the orleans singularity...i regretted it. i will never bother you again, your royal highness,” he quickly added, already pulling away from her touch despite the yearning in his heart. “do return to your lunch. i’m sure the chevalier will be here any moment now.”

he turned to leave, but marie caught him by the arm, her touch like a butterfly, transient and gentle, and he couldn’t help but turn back towards her. she looked calm, he thought, and he was almost jealous of her—of her optimism, belief in providence, and her way with people. her beauty, unbounded.

she pulled away, clasping her arms behind her back, like in his dreams, except this is reality, and she was smiling at him. he could feel his heart racing, like an incoming thunderstorm, and he willed himself to stay calm, although, from the look of it, she could see just how nervous he was. she said nothing about it, however.

“did you know,” the queen started, “i’ve always gotten lost in the hedge maze behind the palace? my louis always have to go and fetch me.”

sanson was completely astonished. he freezed, looking at her in complete surprise.

“‘marie!’ he would scream,” she recounted, ‘i’m here,’” she continued, still smiling gently, remembering her past fondly, “i was merely following the light. i was fascinated by it. as a little girl, i used to watch dust motes. i think it’s beautiful.”

“i think god created it for you,” sanson blurted out, immediately felt embarrassed by what he’s saying, but felt obligated to continue, “perhaps when god said let there be light he was thinking of you in mind.”

he could feel heat rising to his cheeks, but marie doesn’t laugh. her smile grows wider. “do you think so? you think i’m beautiful, henri?”

“yes,” he said, blushing like a schoolboy. “you are, your royal highness. t- this is just a stupid sentiment,” he quickly added, “forget about it.”

“henri,” she says, as gentle as ever, and he wonders how she did that, “i think it’s beautiful. do not be ashamed of it.”

there was silence, and he took it as a cue for him to leave. but when he turned away, he heard her voice again.

“do you want to know something?” she said, and he doesn’t have to see her to see the look on her face, “i have forgiven you a long, long time ago.”

“that doesn’t mean all is forgiven—“ he suddenly felt anger rising within him, an ugly thing, and he whipped around to face her, his coat flapping, but he found himself unable to face her. “you didn’t need to die. i was wrong when i convinced myself that you needed to die in order for france to survive. that it was justified to murder you like that,” his hand clenched into a fist, “you were so _young_ , marie.”

“how did you dream of me?” she asked, to his surprise.

“in a field of sunflowers, under a summer sky so blue it hurts,” he answered, reflexively, “you were wearing your sundress.”

“and was it beautiful?”

“it was,” he admitted, “you were. you were facing the other way, but the sun framed you, and you could have been an angel sent by god himself. it was a beautiful dream. but then you died,” he added, anguish in his voice, once more feeling tears trickling down to his cheek. “you fell down. there was blood on your dress. i remember. i _remembered_ , marie, and it hurts.”

she knows what he means. and he knows that she understands how he feels, remembered, too, from the look in her eyes, even if she schooled her expression to be calm. he digs his nails into his palm, relishing the blood.

surprisingly, she slowly made her way towards him. “i never asked if you mind if i call you henri. but, henri,” she said, and he listened, “i remembered too. and i think i would, forever,” she added, wistfully, suddenly seeming so much older than she looks, a girl who died before her time, one of the victims of the revolution. “but i do not let it define me. i think you should let yourself breathe,” she said, hand touching his wet cheek, fingertips gently wiping the tears. “thank you for telling me how you feel. you should be gentler towards yourself, henri,” she continued, after a slight pause, and he couldn’t help but smile, ever so little, “that’s a royal order.”

“i will, my queen.” he said, after a surprised pause. she never stopped surprising him. he leaned towards her touch as the moment passed between them, before she pulled away and he wiped his tears with his sleeves.

“so, will you lunch with us today?” marie said, gesturing towards her still empty table. the doors behind them slides open, and he knows from marie’s expression who it is. “henri?”

“of course,” he said, bowing slightly, giving her a secret smile, picturing her in a field full of sunflowers, sundress swaying in the breeze. “my queen.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I did not realise this but I ship them now..................s o b. Thanks for reading, comments and suggestions are welcome!


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